The Amber Sword

v3c354
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Requiem(4)

Whether it is Vaunte or our world, there will always be some aspects of the battlefield which go unnoticed throughout the ages. It was like a dead end forgotten by the gaze of the gods. No matter how fierce the fighting was there, or what odd things were going on, it was like a vacuum within the minds of the commanders on both sides of the war, and no one would look much into it. Constructed around the chaotic age of 1400 at the East Gate of Ampere Seal was an elfin-style fortress called Hafermeri Fortress. Ever since its birth, it seemed to either be blessed or cursed; every battle was far from it. When Erik faced the barbarians, Razor Sihad, the lord of the mountain folk, spared the wide-open east side and took the long way to attack Ampere Seale’s southern gate. Later, in the fight against Madara’s first invasion in the Tide of Darkness, the Skeleton Lords once again spared the ancient fortress. So much so that to this day, the princess’ party and the northern nobles seem to have agreed that there is not much use for Hafermeli Fortress. After the demon invasion, the whole city was turned into rubble but the northeast corner was still as silent as ever. For a fortress built to deal with the war, it was really hard to say whether this is a good or bad thing.

But after seven hundred years of erosion, the fortress, which had hardly ever seen war, showed its age. The battlements had moss growing all over them, and the walls had turned dark green – which represented its history. The only difference between it and other fortresses was that there was not a single scratch on the 300-meter-long section of the fortress. There were no signs of old and new sections blending with each other haphazardly. No human soldiers were in the fortress at the moment, however, hordes of eagle demons huddled on top of the battlements, chattering, or hovered over them in the heavy rain. The Harbor Guards had withdrawn on their own, so Fort Hafermeri was lucky to have missed another battle.

The eagle demons watched from the sky as a large pit that was hundreds of meters in diameter took shape below. Hundreds of cavemen dug in this worksite – or more accurately, muddy puddle. Doing anything in such stormy weather was not the wisest thing, which included digging holes and fighting a war. Although the cavemen under the command of the warlocks of the Jorgendigan Underground erected scaffolding to stabilize the four walls, collapses still occurred from time to time. The good thing was that the cavemen’s lives were insignificant, and Lord Stark didn’t care if one, a hundred, or a thousand more cavemen died, it didn’t make any difference to him. The only thing that mattered was how much gold was spent. The cavemen bred so fast that it only takes a small piece of land to get a whole army of them. All he had to do was dig that thing up within the deadline, and any losses would be repaid later on.

A throbbing sensation came from the ground from time to time. Ordinary people often thought this was a premonition of an impending bad omen, but the wizards could tell in a flash that it was a ripple of dark magic flowing underneath the earth, eroding the threads of order in the world. Of course, to ordinary people, this was not a good thing, but to Stark it was like a box of gold that gave off the lovely smell of valuable wine in the ground. No, not one box, but hundreds of boxes – there was even a description according to the language of those demons that come from the Sulfur River: a hundred boxes of gold is no more valuable than that thing, which is an existence that cannot be measured by mortal and folly of values. However, the demons rejected the short-sightedness of mortals, and Stark was just as contemptuous of demonic values.

A treasure that can’t be measured in gold? Wouldn’t that be worthless? He waved his huge bullhead and turned his nose up at it, as he didn’t look highly upon worthless things

But this time, it should be the right place. Stark couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as he could sniff out the stench of that dark magic with his nose. The cavemen under him gave him a lot of trouble as the pit kept on collapsing. The cavemen had to take their time to move the corpses out, or else they would become part of the new landfill underneath, as they were now. Suddenly, there was another cacophony of noise that came from below. What is it now? Another collapse? Can’t they just do their job? The minotaur lord Stark didn’t give the least bit of thought to the fact that it never rained in Jorgendy Ridge. He simply hardened his resolve – the cavemen must be taught a profound lesson if they gave him any more trouble. He planned to throw them into that favorite labyrinth of his. Not even the smart and pretty Medusa Lysemeka could find an exit.

But immediately after she got out that time, Lysemeka turned him into stone for two hours. She said he was cheating and that he hadn’t made a door for the maze. However, this was also a cunning tactic of the Minotaur. Stark was deeply distressed because he was unable to gain the favor of the beautiful lady warrior. How could no one appreciate his wit? When he thought of Lysemeka, that cold and beautiful face came to his mind, distinctly as if it were real, but then Stark immediately realized that it was indeed real, as he saw the beautiful Lady Medusa coming out of the rain.

“Crystal Wights?” Brendel was a little taken aback. How could there be such a thing here? There shouldn’t be any such monsters in this area, not to mention the fact that monsters in Amber always appeared for a reason, just like the wind elementals below the Mar Highlands. They would never pop up for nothing.

Crystal Wights were such a special type of monster that Brendel had only ever seen them in a handful of places, and in small numbers every time.

Thought upon thought rushed through his mind for a moment. However, his reaction was quick; he lowered his center of gravity and the Halran Gaia appeared in the hand.

“Prepare for battle!” the princess shouted in a low voice behind him. The knights drew their long swords in unison.